


Jungle Song

by fearofElderly353



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternative Dimensions, F/F, F/M, Ignorant People, M/M, Magic, Maybe - Freeform, Monthly updates, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Portals, Sloooooooow, Time Shenanigans, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, bro strider being bro strider, fae, fairy worlds, feedback is welcome, hardcore vegan Dave Strider, ill add more as they become pertinent, mild homophobia, oh yeah, probable cultural appropriation on the mythology, rose is sassy, selective mutism, slowest burn ever, so slow, tarzan type situation, this sure is a lot of tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearofElderly353/pseuds/fearofElderly353
Summary: When the indisputably coolest dude this side of the apocalypse washes up on a tropical island with nothing but a Feral Juggalo, a creepy puppet, and the occasional mystical dolphin to keep him company, he thinks he's in for your run-of-the-mill Tarzan type story. But is there more to this situation than meets the eye?  Follow Dave Strider as he ventures through crushing emotional hurdles, twisted machinations, and very, very messy hair to find out.





	Jungle Song

“Fuck.” F-U-C-K, Fuck.

A word of veritably multitudinous meanings, many of which are applicable to the current circumstance-- the first that comes to mind being as an exclamation of immense PANic, a word itself derived from Greece, as an expression of the Universal fear of the WILD, the UNKNOWN, and the INSANITY brought about by ISOLATION, the phobia in turn sparked by clustered industrialization, little spots of civilization on an otherwise unmarked map, so far apart the distance is personified as a God, Pan, of Nature, of Command, and of Horror, his voice, cacophonous and muffling, said to straight up rip the hackles out of your weak little bitch arms, eating away at your psyche with a side of Szechuan Sauce and a heated Yelp Review.

In other words, Dave feels pretty much exactly but not really like a somnambulistic Athens boy Red Riding himself across an unknowable and likely unfriendly terrain, ready and ripe for the picking of those inclined to turn him into a deer and watch impassively as his own pack of Man’s Best Friends ™ tear into him alive.

Which is to say, in summation of all of this nonsensical loquaciousness: “fuck!”

So he screams it, he screams his fucking heart out, goodbye heart, enjoy that independence, get outta town, nobody wants you here ya loser.

The strangled cry of the sort of highly vulnerable utter defeat the likes of which is only invoked in the most depressing of situations echoes mockingly off the walls of the danky cave Dave has sheltered himself in to escape Hypothermia, and Dave can’t help but snort at the irony of it all, the implausibility of whatever in the Nine Damn Circles of _Hell Nah_ has happened to him. He supposes now would be a good time for some expositional rumination, but he’s tired, wet, and cold, and if he has to think on top of this shitstorm sunday, the resulting mind explosion is gonna be enough to form a freaking continent.

No, he’s vegging the fuck out, narration train is closed for the Holidays, all o’ y’all suckers who missed the trip out better wait a minute. Or better yet, get down on that rewind button and milk that tragic backstory for all it’s worth. Go to town. Invent bottilized CoolKid Tragedy. But let him sleep. Let him--

**REWIND --- >>>**

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] opened memo on board real life zombie apocalypse!!!--

  
EB: hi everybody!

EB: this is pretty serious, huh?

EB: i guess, what i want to say is, are you guys okay?

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] responded to memo.--

TT: Indeed, this is most verily contretemps.

TT: To cut to the chase: I'm fine, for now.

TT: As you know, Mother and I reside in a mysterious woodland mansion.

TT: Thus we have been sheltered from urban panic for the interim between the initial breakout and now.

\-- thirstyGangsta [TG] responded to memo.--

TG: tats me

TG: thats*

TG: mother

TG: mommy

TG: lol

TG: were good

TT: How we revere your benevolent drunken insight.

TT: John, you've obviously not perished.

TT: However, you live in a high-risk area.

TT: What is your current status?

EB: thank jesus. i'm really glad you're alive, rose.

EB: i was so worried about you!

EB: my dad and i are on a boat, actually.

TT: I reciprocate that sentiment in full.

TT: But I wasn't aware you owned a nautical vehicle?

\-- pipeFan413 [pipeFan413] responded to memo.--

pipeFan413: I am ashamed to admit it came into our possession vis a vis a desperate act of larceny.

pipeFan413: Although, a guilty conscience is well worth the protection of my son.

TG: nauty boy

pipeFan413: And I extend this protection to any of you who seek it.

pipeFan413: We do not have much to proffer sans distance from the apocalyptic wasteland of our former home.

pipeFan413: And I am aware I am reaching tremendously to expect safe passage from the opposite side of the continent.

pipeFan413: Nonetheless, you are John's friends. Perhaps family, even, and so vicariously, you are my family.

pipeFan413: To leave you wilting away to an ambiguous fate while we bask in assured comfort does not rest well with me, nor my son.

TG: naughty*

TG: u know what

TG: youre right

TG: rosey whdy a say we bust out thr

TG: the*

TG: llaonde mobile

TT: Mother I might remind you neither of us is a certified pilot.

TT: And that neither of us is knowledgeable on aircraft maintenance, fueling, or safety?

TG: nonsene rosey

TG: ill youtube that shit

TG: i got dis

TG: im a mcfreakin scientis

EB: wait, you guys have a plane?

TT: A private jet to entertain Mother's educational escapades.

TT: Before you spiel platitudes to my unfair, bumptious, upper-class-ness glory, I will reiterate we are on a tangible time constraint.

TT: In contrast to our alternatives, this may actually present itself as our best bet.

TT: Leaving one glaring concern.

TT: Dave, who need I remind anyone present lives smack dab in the center of one of the largest cities in the United States, let alone Texas, has not yet responded.

\--teletubbyTickler [TT] responded to memo.\--

TT: Likely as a consequence of being passed the fuck out.

EB: oh, hi, dave's bro!

TG: howdy bang

TG: my sweet twatwaffle

TG: do ya wan a ride

TG: wn a go far

TT: Do you take me for an imbecile? I've trained for this contingency my entire rad life.

TT: We don't need your help.

pipeFan413: If not for your own sake, would you consider it for your charge's?

TG: yeh come on dirkus

TG: i no ur some badass anime ninja or whtever

TG: buy lil daveys just a baby

TG: or sexteen

TG: or seventen

TG: rosey how ald are you

TT: Mother.

TT: How do you live with yourself?

TT: And Strider.

TT: I swear on every eldritch deity, on the contents of my Mother's liquor cabinet, and on your god-forsaken stupid-ass puppet.

TT: If I never see Dave again, if he perishes under your fickle and reckless care, I will knit a sweater from your bones and feast upon your putrid middle-aged flesh.

TT: Do you understand?

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] responded to memo.--

GG: rose i think you are being a little dramatic

TT: Perhaps my social filter momentarily collapsed.

TT: But I won't apologize for sincerity.

EB: jade! hi!

EB: have you seen the news?

GG: i cant believe you guys forgot about me!

GG: i know its crazy but i have an idea!

TT: Not crazier than the previously established I imagine.

GG: no of course not

GG: its so obvious anyways!

GG: you should come to my island!

TT: ...

TT: I may have been incorrect in my assumption.

TT: The uncharted one somewhere vaguely in the Central Pacific?

EB: dad what do you think?

pipeFan413: Uncharted?

EB: yeah it's not even on the map, i guess.

EB: jade's grandpa is an explorer.

pipeFan413: Ms. Harley, could you perhaps provide nearby landmarks?

pipeFan413: Do you have a general idea of where you are located?

GG: um, sure! ill talk to grandpa about it!

pipeFan413: Your kindness is much appreciated.

pipeFan413: And John, my son.

EB: yup that's me. hehe.

pipeFan413: I am so proud of you.

EB: oh, um.

EB: thanks?

EB: but what do you mean?

pipeFan413: We are going to study the ways of Neptune.

pipeFan413: It will be arduous.

pipeFan413: With just the two of us.

pipeFan413: But I believe in you. We will brave these perilous waters as a team.

pipeFan413: A team of equals.

pipeFan413: John, my boy.

pipeFan413: It is time for you to become a man.

EB: oh okay! yeah, i can do that, no problem.

TG: not to like poop on anybodys fiesta

TG: but is satlite imagin not a thing pasr the west coast

TG: and ur gonna have to have a biggre crew than

TG: just the 2 of u

TG: :/

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo.--

TG: yar har fiddle dee dee

TG: being a pirate is alright with me

EB: dave!

GG: hey coolkid XB

EB: i thought you were unconscious.

TG: i am

EB: no you're not!

TG: prove it

GG: whats up dave?

TT: Yes, Dave, what is up?

TG: sorry cant talk right now im unconscious remember

\-- grandTruncheon [GT] responded to memo.--

GT: *loosens collar a bit*

GT: Why, I'll go to the foot of the stairs!

GT: What a mighty crum-a-grackle you folks have landed yourselves in!

GG: grandpa, friends

GG: friends, grandpa

TT: Lalonde, Lil' Cal and I have come to the executive conclusion that accompanying you on your bitching adventure is the best course of action after all.

TG: told yo not yto foubt my widsom

TG: it be porin fuckng sage advice

TG: over ere

TG: here*

TG: to*

TG: doubt*

**YEAH, THIS IS GREAT, BUT WE STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON. SKIP AHEAD! --- >>>**

(Yeesh, impatient much? It’s called setting the scene, poser.)

The fat hits the bread like Rihanna hits the dancefloor; the crispy scent of burnt toast twerking enthusiastically with sea salt and storm. Dave is quivering in his boots to tear into that hot vegan delight, but restrains himself when a better idea makes itself known.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering  ectoBiologist [EB]\--

TG: yo john think you can handle this fr e sh avoca do toast

Yes, it’s the Zombie freaking Apocalypse, and yes, they’re blindly drifting across the insurmountably gargantuan Pacific Ocean, with their survival entirely contingent upon finding an island supposedly inhabited by a PenPal who they’ve never actually met before their supplies runs out and they die as forgettable collateral to the End of the World ( for reals OMG), and, yes, there’s really no point to maintaining Vine culture of all things, but Dave is ~~scared of losing himself~~ just simply too cool to care. (How’s that for an infodump?)

EB: dave could you not have said that out loud. we’re literally right across from each other.

TG: yeah nope some words are just so madoka magica theyd burst your wimpy sound receptacles into smithereens

TG: you know what i mean bro

EB: fine fine whatever *eye roll*

Dave glances up from his texting apparatus to find John attempting to break a world record for geekiest smile-eye roll mashup ever instigated in the history of Dorkdom, domicile to the types of people who invest in rivalries with Betty Crocker products and sincerely enjoy Nic Cage movies. Dave maybe envies this jejune quality about him. Maybe he doesn’t. The world may never uncover the surreptitious truth.

EB: why, no dave, i was simply not prepared, your mad kitchen skillz have shrunk both my ego and myself to the size of an ant.

EB: and now you have to embark on a quest to turn me back to normal, while trying super hard not to like, step on me accidentally or something!

TG: i make none of the promises

EB: wow my hero!

Dave shrugs and props his feet up on the table, serving to anchor him as his chair slips back and forth, sliding to the rhythm of the waves.

TG: dont worry my dude i got your back

TG: that derriere is mine

TG: eternally in my possession

TG: motherfucking bury it with me when i die

TG: take my car my daughter everything

TG: but dont take away the back

TG: my widowy threnody tic tac

TG: so fucking sweet you cant have any

TG: your backs the flat im the landlady

TG: rolling in tenancy

EB: aww shucks dave.

EB: hey we should make a movie out of this! we could get your bro’s help and everything!

EB: he’s a director right? oh man that would be a really fun way to pass the time on the hellship!

TG: dude dude dude dude dude oh my god like totally

EB: wait really?

Okay, so, yes, his Bro is technically a ‘director,’ John’s not wrong in that, but, uh, the stuff he makes ain’t really the family-friendly kind, despite sometimes involving a member of Dave’s family being particularly friendly-- whatever, Dave’s not ready to dig up the hatchet on that one. He’s not embarrassed. He’s not ashamed. He doesn’t care, they’re super cool, layers of ironic nuance and cash-grabbing marketing schematics, a brilliance and brash idiocy burrito sold in the alleyways of the Big City to sleezes in trenchcoats, and Bro is the poncy queen on the throne of gold bars, smuppet and dildo crown framing his angular white dude man face. Just. Well, gotta protect Johnny Boy Wonder from the harsh fucking reality, right?

TG: nah hes too cool for the likes of we meek adolescent peons

TG: nuff said

EB: i’m pretty sure he’s not as cool as you think he is.

EB: not to like be mean or anything.

EB: but whatever you say, dave, really.

EB: we can just do it ourselves!

TG: yo egderp

TG: that heretical nonsense youre spouting

TG: stuff that somewhere nice and cozy

TG: have rose knit a lil scarf for it

TG: cause winter is coming

TG: and my bro will not show mercy

EB: alright, i get it, i get it!

EB: dave’s bro is sooooo cool he makes ice look like lava, or something, blah blah blah, welcome to metaphor town.

EB: but what do you say about the movie?

TG: okay man

TG: but can you be the protag

TG: id be total shit at it

TG: lights camera

TG: check out this hot steamy action im all pickin my nose

TG: while egbert faces the most arduous trials to ever trial

TG: trailblazing the way of the super small

TG: main character material galore up in this hizouse

EB: dave...

EB: we’re on a boat. not a house!

EB: and you’re super awesome dave you should know this, you never shut up about it!

EB: i’m really not all that interesting on my own anyways!

EB: besides, me and you are a team, it wouldn’t be the same without both of us there!

TG: oh jon

TG: youre so romantic

TG: youre really icing me cream here john

TG: swirling my tea

TG: tickling my rapunzel patch

TG: thrusting my rocket launchers

TG: getting me hot for friendship like im twilight sparkle

TG: and another cliche head honcho with an indubitably rocking musical numbers come to wreck princess celestia the unhelpfuls shit

TG: the whole goddamned tomato parade

EB: dave don’t be a homosexual about this.

EB: hey i know!

TG: and with the utterance of those three words dave recognized the blanket of comfort shrouding his desolate shoulders meaning all our problems had been eternally solvederoo by the brilliant dr egbert phd

EB: you can be the lone ranger from texas!

EB: i’m pretty sure the only reason you haven’t said anything yet is because you sound like a total cowboy in person and you’re embarrassed about it!

TG: tsk tsk jon

TG: have you been perusing my diary again

John puts his fingers to his chin in a caricature of pensiveness.

EB: maybe we can even find you one of those old-timey hats on the ship somewhere.

EB: or you can wear one of dad’s fedoras!

EB: he probably wouldn’t mind.

EB: actually i think he’d encourage it.

TG: okay but one caveat

EB: sure!

TG: i get to be

TG: a gay cowboy

EB: dave please stop.

TG: rainbow boots

TG: one night stands with hunky muscular wranglers

EB: daaaave.

TG: tumbleweed train as i strider across the dancefloor

TG: dudes dropping their guns and harmonicas or whatever at the sight of me

TG: in all my scintillating mansuetude

EB: daaaaaave.

TG: yall shouldnta doubted them tales bout the glamorous gay of the plains

TG: heard of dirt devils

TG: im more fierce than that shit

TG: blowing the wind in your face into your lungs

TG: cant breathe im so dang fabulous

TG: rootin tootin shootin my every step

TG: fuckin yee haw bitch

"Daaaaaaaaaave!"

John interrupts him with a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of the soliloquy, and Dave can’t help but flinch but he’s trying not to and maybe John doesn’t notice anyways so it’s fine.

TG: heavens to betsy john what

EB: oh good finally.

TG: john i am offended

TG: what if i was really rampantly into dudes john

TG: what would you do then john

TG: knowing you made your best friend weep in the girls bathroom john

TG: get attacked by a toilet troll all alone john

TG: i died peeing john

TG: its all your fault john

EB: you’re just being facetious!

EB: yeah, that’s right, i’m on to you, mr. OBSTINATE.

EB: and doesn’t everybody die excreting waste or something?

EB: i think i read that in an article at some point before the apocalypse happened!

TG: it happened

EB: yeah it happened.

TG: it totally happened

EB: thankfully we won’t have to live through those memories again now that we’re safeish, hehe.

TG: yeah like anyone who would want to experience what we experienced vicariously or no is fucked in the head

EB: agreed, that was some messed up shit!

**HOLY POTATO, WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?! SKIP AHEAD!--- >>>**

Dave is ironically tending to the many needs of his highly demanding and delicate pet rock Patricia “Tricia” Strider when he starts to feel nauseous, and not just from the projectile vomit-inducing rocking of the ship as the ocean rattles it like a kid recently introduced to the concept of miracas, either. This is something different. Something sinister, something antient. Something from the deepest darkest recesses of his childhood nightmares, from the first time he saw Chucky(Bro still makes fun of him for crying.), from when he realized he was straight as a pole thrown off a cliff and melted into a ring, slipped onto the finger of a man-on-man newlywed husband, from when he logs onto PesterChum and is greeted by wall upon wall of violet text. There’s only one thing, one person, who can inspire this sort of unease in him.

Against his better judgement, he unleashes his phone.

God damn it.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

TT: Hark! The angels are calling!

TT: They said, and I am attempting to the best of my abilities not to paraphrase here, “Get yo’ fuckin’ self inside for lunch before we deploy the almighty shoe on yo’ ass.”

TT: They really should mind their language.

TT: Gosh darn ethereal beings.

TG: not now poopykins

TG: davey wavey is busy

TT: Oh, Dave, I didn’t realize you were throwing a pity party, you should’ve invited me!

TT: You know I bring the best ‘I’m in denial and suppressing my multitudinous turbulent feelings because I conform to the societal construct of manly stoicism and the belief that disclosing that I’m not subscribed to Sang Froid magazine 100% of the time to the individuals who care about and cherish me most tenderly would put me in such a vulnerable position that I’d probably inspire the heat death of the Universe with my mushy wushy healthy and realistic humanoid behavior alone’ casserole.

TT: You always eat the whole thing, though, don’t you Dave? Never save any pieces for the rest of us! How discourteous of you, really.

TG: rose

TG: my dearest dearest sweet baby cousin

TG: my only cousin

TG: how are you lalonde

TG: hows your mommy rose

TG: i feel like we havent talked about you in such a long time rose

TG: i dont want to hog all that spotlight rose

TG: it taints my otherwise perfect complexion

TT: As it would be immensely hypocritical of me to portend indifference in spite of my introductory speech, I will confess, as the sinner to the likely pedophilic preacher confesses his wrongdoings in the hope of Divine comeuppance, intervention from the firmament to fly the guilt away on the zephyrs of forgiveness, if you will, my mother’s most recently salacious activity with one John Egbert’s father has finally bestowed upon me the opportunity to achieve what I have always longed for out of life, my most sacred and primordial desire: the fortuitous chance to be traumatized by parental fornication.

TG: see that furrysuit shedding a tear in the back pew of your baptizization

TG: well thats jade

TG: but that amazing dude sitting next to the furrysuit

TG: thats me rose

TG: wishing on dishes

TG: and fishes

TG: and kisses

TG: wishing it doesnt fly away

TG: these moments are all we have

TG: this time together

TG: wasting a deuce on the empire fucking state building

TG: imminent gorilla on its way to wreck our literal shit

TG: whatd you eat for breakfast lalonde this shit is ripe

TT: Bacon.

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

TT: ..?

turntechGodhead[TG] is now an idle chum.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

TT: Dave, it’s been two hours; I’ll presume you’ve perished and manipulate your final words in accordance with your infallible adoration for me.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

TT: Well played, I’ll admit.

TT: Whoever murdered you has my utmost respect.

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TT: Not nearly quick enough this time, you rapscallion, you.

TG: i think

TT: Oh, do you? I would never have noticed.

TG: you are

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TT: Bravo David, that is indeed my name. You’ve grown up so fast.

TG: i think

TG: you are

TT: At some point you’ll indubitably deplete your battery and have no other choice but to come out of hiding, Strider.

 

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

TT: Eight hours of your life to what end, David?

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

TT: Departing the waking world? Yes. Really, there’s no good reason for you to keep this up.

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: lalonde

TG: i think

TG: you are

TT: What ever could I be, David?

TG: a snarky broad

TG: get owned lalonde

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

**ARE YOU DOING THIS ON PURPOSE?! TO SPITE US?!--- >>>**

**(maybe)**

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG]. \--

TG: whats cookin good lookin

GG: !

TG: wtf

GG: !!

TG: !!!

GG: ;3

TG: B3

GG: >;3

TG: B?

GG: >>>:B

TG: ! B(

GG: woof

TG: BD

GG: wof

GG: woof

TG: woof?

GG: woof

GG: XB

TG: woof

GG: u_u

TG: meow?

GG: woof woof woof!

TG: like nyah

GG: woof woof woof woof woof!

GG: woof woof woof!!!

TG: meow!

GG: *triumphant woof*

TG: *sad dying meeeeooooow*

GG: woof? woof? What have i done?

TG: m.... me… meow…?

GG: woof!

TG: …

TG: meow…

GG: WOOF! WOOF!

GG: hoo hoo hoo

TG: tell my fameowly

TG: i

TG: i

TG: theyre all pieces of crap

TG: bleh

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG]. \--

**UNBELIEVABLE WASTE OF TIME --- >>>**

The sun whispers goodbye as it melts into the icy embrace of sea, inevitable, this ritual prophylactic descent, an ouroboros of delicate balance, maintaining the dregs of life as it has and will for eons. Boundless glistening jade and encumbering pitch night divided by a rapidly fading sliver of amber; a sunset sandwich, ripe for consumption.

Um. Where the fuck did that come from?

Dave shudders, his raglan bellowing in the frantic gusts of wind. Sitting up on that pointy area on the front edge of a ship, whatever that’s called, for hours at a time, has left him fruity, poetic, and admittedly resembling a cherry creamsicle in temperature, coloration, and, as always, figurative coolness factor.

As light pure and true abconds this intensive confabulation session, Dave is tempted to see how far he can throw his stupid AWESOME shades into the vast unforgiving watery plain. But, as always upon the commencement of such urges, he immediately ~~is overcome by clutches of unbridled anxious terror~~ scoffs at the very notion.

So he stretches instead, not paying particular attention to the crackling and popping his rice crispy joints make, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if he cared to consider the entirety of his circumstance. In fact, what was up with GOOSEBUMPS? Positively riveting inquiry; Dave absolutely must satiate this newfound desire to explore that bodacious beat, that thrilling track, that crappy sadistic writing, that--

**DO YOU EVEN STORY TELL, BRO?**

**(We’re getting there, dick muncher. But I suppose if you want some relevant action, an hour and a half time skip might behoove you.)**

**PRECISELY NINETY MINUTES INTO THE FUTURE--- >>>**

Something soft and warm-- not a penis goddamn you-- slips over his shoulders.

“Found you.”

Obviously, Dave hadn’t been hiding here specifically for the entire three days since they’d last impudently pulled each other’s pigtails. Rose would have to be an idiot not to check in such an obviously obvious place. And obviously, Rose was obviously not an idiot. Obviously.

“Why, yes, David, this is indeed my prized handcrafted steampunk victorian-style cloak. Yes, yes, I’m too generous, I know.”

Her effort garners her Lady Gaga’s poker face and a finger, no specification on which finger required, of course. With the prelude of excessively polite contentious bromides out of the way, they slip into a more comfortable heart-to-heart position-- only ironically-- Dave leaning against the railing, Tricia in lap, Rose sprawled out in front of him, fake spectacles purchased online long ago perched intentionally on the tip of her nose.

“I come baring canned green peas, you funky little post-relevance post-impact animal rights activist,” she says, employing the anime-glasses nudge. “Not to babysit you, but to mock and jest you about your futile put-on moral principles. If you meant them sincerely, why, I might be inclined to apologize, but, until such admittance postulates itself, I am afraid I have no other choice as your family but to poke and laugh as though entertaining a museum exhibit on the positive contributions of stale and forgotten wax politicians.”

The can rolls for two seconds before coming to a stop at Dave’s old duct-taped converse. He doesn’t make a move to collect it.

Rose sighs. “Please, Dave, I can’t help but feel as though…” She stares off into the distance thoughtfully like she’s in a detective movie, her hair, ghostly pale in the starlight, still, flaxen, and tepid, true to the moniker, swirling tentaculiferously around the curves of her freckled cheeks. “I am unsure of how to express this, but I feel as though something strange, something temporally calamitous, is going to happen soon.”

Dave quirks an eyebrow, but compliantly captchalogues the can. He doesn’t even have a can opener, but, whatever.

In turn, Rose emits a sigh of presumable relief. “Be careful, alright?”

He gestures to himself as if to say, ‘who, me?’

 **LIES! YOU LIED! GET TO THE CONSARN POINT!--- >>>**  
**(You asked for it.)**  
**THE CONSARN POINT--- >>>**

Dave wants to sleep, desperately (but like in a cool way). He’s, honestly, tired enough to commit to facultative hibernation. He blinks and gazes sporadically anywhere and nowhere, the frost on his lashes one of those kinky chains tethering him to the bedpost of convulsive twitching lethargy. Freaking sweet freaking _what_. He’s basically insomnia’s bottom bitch at this point.

He needs to go inside. He needs to go inside a lifetime ago. Rose’s shitty cloak and his favorite pair of hello kitty earmuffs ain’t cutting it right now, not with the sea spray, not with the hours, and not with Dave. He fixates his sight to his left, attempting to glean some semblance of focus and composition. But as soon as the action is taken, he finds himself recoiling in ~~horror~~ impressed dudebro reflex.

The unexpected shock of spotting Lil’ Cal, painted smile omnipresent, ghetto gear and backwards cap, T-posing against some pole, sobers him enough to stand. Aches and pains that had once been drifting merrily through his subconscious flare in anticipation. Does Bro want to strife? Right now? Of course, not that Dave is not totally down with that. Because he is not not not not totally down with that. He is so down with it, he don’t even know what’s up anymore. What is up again? Why’re you asking Dave, he has no clue.

He surveys his surroundings to the best of his limited capabilities. Not a lot of places to hide up here. Just him, the mist, and--

“Sup.” Bro apparates from nowhere, arms crossed, casual, no squint nor furrow to hint that he’d ever belonged anywhere but right there. He’s dressed the same as always, starch white polo stained by grease and neglect, shoulders slouched, suave scar spanning from his jaw to the corner of his eye, fingerless gloves and pointy weeaboo shades the jewel on the figurative masterpiece of multi-faceted irony. Radiating indifference and superiority.

He’s gazing passively in Dave’s general direction, the point of focus imperceptible with two layers of tinted glass serving as an emotional bastion; he really doesn’t seem to care one way or another whether Dave attempts a reply. Still, Dave offers a shrug, a sign of respect despite the lack of expectations.

“The stars sure are beautiful tonight,” Bro says, without so much as an upwards glance. “You know who else is beautiful?” Lil’ Cal suddenly hangs bridal style in Bro’s thick, muscular arms, with an astounding but not surprising ostensible lack of motion by either involved parties. “This fucking puppet. Motherfucking babelicious.” He tilts Lil’ Cal’s placid mien so that its cerulean blue orbs (swoon) bore apathetically into Dave’s own.

“But he’s feelin’ pretty lonely lately looks like. Why don’t you reach out ‘n give him a Hezbollah-style fist-jabbing.” Dave’s not trembling, not that any of you could prove otherwise anyhow. Lil’ Cal is plenty groovy and the only people who try to deny this indisputable fact are lameasses like his friends, his neighbors, and the general, uneducated populace.

He reaches out most tenderly for this surely righteous quarter pounder power five. His fist inches along its trajectory in a divine arch, an avian messenger to intercept its speared comeuppance, struck through the heart to fall deceased in a river of blood. By which, Dave means, aw, holy fucking fuck, Bro, what the hell was that for. Dave refrains from caressing his nose, now a heated and throbbing contrast to the insistent, frozen winds. Ringing kicks and topples through his skull, as though kids in a bounce house, or perhaps highly caffeinated mountain goats struck by lightning. Nice prank Bro, pretty damn clever. Like a cake smash but with fresh boat palisade.

“Does the little dude need a hanky?” Lil’ Cal is poised in the throwing position; copper tangoes on his tongue. “Think fast.”

Before he can collect his thoughts nice and proper, his sword is in his hand and the puppet in the crook of is elbow. A hostage. An awesome hostage no offense my man. The awesomest hostage.

“Polly Prissypants. Wanna pose like in Titanic?”

Freaking hilarious idea Bro. Dave shrugs in acquiescence, or at least attempts to in spite of his entire body shaking like a high-end vibrator set to max.

“Rose was such a motherfucking cunt, am I right? Reminds me of someone we know,” he says, nonchalant, uncomfortably close, breath biting at Dave’s earlobes, which had, up until just now, been numb and possibly ready to divorce the body on which they were so unfairly attached.

Sure. Nod.

Bro’s hands are calloused and coriaceous, firm and unyielding. Dave grimaces out into the horizon, sword on one side, marionette on the other, lifted ever so graciously into the air. This shit right here is pretty damn funny.

How long they stay like this, Dave, in all his glacius glory, cannot sufficiently approximate. He feels the silent dare, the egging on, the menace radiating from his backside. A forgotten fraction of him pleads to run away, to cry for help. To not let his Bro beat him to a bloody pulp for the nth time. To climb out of the quagmire, to cut through these vines that strangulate, to voluntarily intensify the air pressure in his lungs while simultaneously shaping his mouth and larynx in the ways he’s known since he was born to form the auditory communicative signals which relate to his best fucking interests. But he squashed that bug of a desire long ago. He knows better now. He, he knows it’s for his own good. He’s weak and Bro is more than strong, he’s a fucking badass. If Dave wasn’t so infinitesimal in comparison the end result wouldn’t be so drastic for him anyways. The only way to improve is to train, even if he doesn't know what for. He has to believe that.

After what could be anywhere from five minutes to thirty, he hears the tell-tale gliding swoosh of Bro’s melee weapon of choice.

The battle has begun.

He whips around in a manner that could only be labeled as acrobatically, reminiscent of a pirouette, leg and weapon heaving down on the shadow where his Bro had just been. It’s dead night, thunder rumbles in the distance, and the soundtrack of Xtreme top-ten worthy anime battles blares to the percussion of metal on metal. Lil’ Cal writhes in his embrace, but Dave knows that keeping it is one of his only advantages.

Practiced maneuvers spill like intuition, legendary Pokémon final showdown style, choreographed and simple and hot damn, he’s flying; he slams into the railing upside down, toppling over, face full of wet deck. Before he can make a move to stand he’s kicked to the side, the butt of a hilt to his cheek narrowly missing his aviators, a foot to his ribs straight up disintegrating his very breath.

He doesn’t have a chance. He never does, but now, especially so; his imminent failure is freaking tangible. A slash to his side. A punch to the gut. A familiar reflective pool of triangular darkness when he dares to glare at the countenance of his opponent. Incredible. Powerful. Bro sneers in disapproval and Dave feels, he feels it in every inch of his being, in every bruise and cut and malformation, that he deserves it.

“Stop being a pussy and fight.”

He strikes. He misses. Again, and again, and again, until he’s flinging himself at the slightest movement, cutting through air, unhinged and wild. An uppercut throws him into the sky and his hold is loosening on Lil’ Cal and it’s too late, he’s lost, he’s not enough, will never be enough.

“Fucking weak ass idiot.”

He’s cornered, Bro a stark silhouette stretching high as the skyscrapers that birthed him, the lights of the heavens magnified and magical and iridescent and suffocating and he _doesn’t know what to do._

“Pussy bastard.”

Bro saunters closer and closer, intention unclear, lips a grim and untelling line.

“Little bitch.”

He's not crying; he used up all his tears a long time ago.

Lightning crackles in the distance, through his cranium, raging Zeus-worthy veins on his poor, obsolete brain, consternation swimming freestyle across his very being.  
Waves lap hungrily behind him, as though feeding off his fear. He raises his arms in deference and defense, the meekest last resort to ever be resorted to lastly. The brief light illuminates their platform, and Bro freezes uncharacteristically, mask broken and something like hatred ghosting his eyes, visible momentarily in the flash, directed at something Dave can’t see.

“You,” he starts, for the first time Dave’s been privy witness to at a loss for words. But it doesn’t last longer than a second until he snaps back into reality.

“I’ll kill you, piece of shit,” he roars, lurching forwards.

Fingers wrap around his neck, wringing lines of malice. Something is wrong. _Very_ with italics wrong. _It's been a bad fucking day_ wrong. _Had too many fucking beers_ wrong. _Hate you more than fucking usual_ wrong. Bro is calm and collected and smooth as ice, and maybe he’s violent, maybe he’s antagonistic, but, the man he knows, is the exact, the exact opposite of what’s in front of him.

It's hysterical.

“You’ve been laughing at me this whole time, haven’t you?!”

He can’t breathe, he can’t see. He can’t think, with the exception of one, blaring primordial urge screaming _live_.

“How dare you? How dare you?!”

Dave mouths indecipherable curses, that which he is unable to muster the courage to say out loud.

His calf, seventh grade, self-stitched in the bathroom after a bad break up. His nose, first grade, crooked liked a mountain range, when he questioned his absence of a mom or dad. His left hand, sophomore year, disfigured permanently for no fucking reason at all. His neck, now, burning motes into his eyes, his ears, his everything.

And in a facsimile of pure animus, the culmination of years of contrasting dread and admiration, of denial and submission, of melancholy and social disconnect, of rap and puppet ding dong, of the katana scars swirling his abdomen with a frequency of hair follicles, Dave makes what is simultaneously the most idiotic and most brave decision he’s ever decisioned, a thoughtless sleep and nutrient deprived fulfillment of absconsion, pushes off Bro's chest, and flings himself into the welcome abyss below.

**OH. HOLY FUCK. --- >>>**

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

TT: Had your fill of playing Batman to marine life?

TT: Whimsied your nose hairs cryogenically freezing yourself in time?

TT: We’ve prepared cocoa for you. Aren’t we the best?

TT: Color me surprised, but a vegan alternative was quite simple to jury rig.

TT: It even doesn’t taste like hamster colon this time!

TT: What, not going to ask me why I know how hamster colon tastes?

TT: You can’t ignore me forever, Strider.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

**NO NO NO. --- >>>**

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

EB: daaaaaaaave!

EB: come on dave!

EB: we made hot chocolate!

EB: i’ll drink yours if you don’t hurry your ass in here!

EB: i won’t hesitate, beotch.

EB: (hehe just kidding)

EB: but seriously man!

EB: rose won’t admit it but she’s worried about you!

EB: and i am too!

EB: you’re so quiet!

EB: i barely ever see you anymore and we only just met in person like a few days ago!

EB: you're my best friend, dave. ):B

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]\--

**NO! STOP! NO! --- >>>**

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]. \--

GG: dave i heard youre being a sourpuss loner

GG: rose and john thought i might be able to sway you

GG: theyre saying they cant find you

GG: but youre online

GG: so i know youre seeing these

GG: dave dont be an asshole :/

GG: if you want i guess we can talk about it!

GG: i know you like to pretend you dont but i know you have feelings too

GG: i wont laugh at you dave

GG: ill think youre cool no matter what

GG: DAVE!

GG: okay, thats fine

GG: im here to talk if you want

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]. \--

**“FUCK.” F-U-C-K, FUCK. ---???**

**Author's Note:**

> howdy folks, i guess this here marks the origins of what is sure to be an eventually rather unremarkable history of contributions to the fandom! i bestow upon thee a sticker of gratitude for makin it all the way through! let me know if you have any questions or concerns! ^u^ you can reach me on tumblr at http://versace-will-never-be-the-same.tumblr.com/ , if you would so like. anyhoo, best regards, and all that!


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